WHAT A DCC ROOKIE’S HAIR FLIP REMINDED ME ABOUT EMBARRASSMENT

How a Small Moment on Netflix’s America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders Mirrored My Own Struggles with Awkwardness and Friendship

I just finished season two of America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, and they covered a lot—from the pressure to nail high kicks to the fight for fair pay. There’s so much I could write about, but one small moment keeps replaying in my mind.

After the makeovers the girls received at training camp (the program that aspiring cheerleaders go through after passing preliminary auditions—there are still cuts during this phase), some of the rookies were back at their hotel, hanging out and debriefing the day.

Maddie K, a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old and one of the youngest to ever make the team, came into auditions with short hair, looking like she was fresh out of high school. Throughout the show, I noticed some girls were clearly amused by her youth and what they saw as naivety.

Note: Everything I’m perceiving could be totally off—but I’m watching this through the perspective of my awkward, uncomfortable eighteen-year-old self.

I immediately liked Maddie K, felt protective of her, and saw myself in her: a driven, hopeful girl trying to make friends and find her footing (yes, I’m absolutely projecting). During the makeovers, Kelli Finglass (Director of the DCC) gives Maddie long extensions that instantly make her look five years older.

Later, in the hotel room, Maddie talks about never having been able to flip her hair during the infamous Thunderstruck dance with her shorter hair. So, she tried it for the first time with her new long flowing hair in front of the group. It’s not the best flip—but to be fair, it’s her first with long hair, and it’s stiff with what must be a pound of hairspray. Two girls—who radiate mean girl energy—look away in secondhand embarrassment and snicker, like they can’t believe they’re in the same room as her. It reeks of insecurity on their end and pisses me off.

If you’ve ever done something awkward in front of people you want to be friends with (and I’d bet most of us have), you know that feeling. I don’t know if Maddie felt it, but I know that if I were in her shoes, I’d laugh it off—and then go cry in my car. Not only is that what I did in high school... it’s what I did earlier this week. At twenty-six.

My situation wasn’t nearly as intense as being filmed for Netflix, surrounded by girls expected to be perfect. But it still sucked. Watching Maddie in that moment—and then, a few days later, finding myself in a new group of friends, trying to be liked while still being myself—stirred up something I hadn’t felt in years. That sting of doing or saying something I thought was fun, only to feel the embarrassment flood in when I realized others didn’t think so, made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out.

My friends and I were talking about how living in nursing homes could be nice because you’d have friends in the same life season as you. I agreed and said how my grandma passed away while playing checkers with a friend, because I thought it was a sweet way to go. Given the context it didn’t feel that out of place at all. We’ve all been honest and even said some shocking things before. But when I said it, it was met with stunned looks and intense, uncomfortable laughter. I immediately felt embarrassed and caught off guard.

Then, just as I thought we’d moved past that moment, someone asked what my grandmother’s name was. I responded, “Memaw,” and they literally bent over laughing—apparently, they meant her actual name, not what I’d called her my entire life. It wasn’t one of those moments where people are laughing with you—it was very clearly laughing at me. I hadn’t experienced that since college, and it instantly brought back that familiar feeling in my body—the one I used to get as a teenager, when I’d say something and immediately feel like an idiot for even opening my mouth.

It’s moments like these that make me wonder why I keep putting myself out there. Maybe that sounds dramatic, and I wish I could stop replaying moments like this in my head—yet I’ve never been someone who is able to. Being a person is hard. Making friends (for some of us) is hard.

Maddie K’s moment was so small it could’ve been cut—but it wasn’t, and I’m glad. Even though I wish I could erase all my own embarrassing moments, I’ve come to accept they’re just a part of life. I don’t know what Maddie K did afterward. Maybe she didn’t notice the snickers. Or maybe she cried alone in her car after pretending everything was fine—just like I did.

I don’t think I’ve necessarily learned anything from embarrassment, other than that it’s temporary—and that eventually, the urge to never show my face again fades. If you’ve ever felt out of place, said the wrong thing, or hair-flipped your way into self-doubt—I see you. I am you. It’s okay to feel embarrassed. Just hold on to the knowledge that it’s only temporary.

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